


Predators Lurking in the Waters

by Caprikat



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Animal Instincts, B/B - Freeform, BL, Fantasy, Gay, Intersex, Island - Freeform, Learning to be Human, M/M, Maneater, Mermaids, Merpeople, Mpreg, MxM - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Ocean, Romance, Seduction, Sirens, Slash, Some sirens are intersex, Trapped on an island, Vaginal Sex, War, Yaoi, bxb - Freeform, lost at sea, m/m - Freeform, predator - Freeform, sirens are intersex, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprikat/pseuds/Caprikat
Summary: Richard was supposed to represent the Verhan Empire at the Allied Conference. He was supposed to discuss tactical procedures, political marriages, trading, but instead he found himself alone from an aftermath of a storm, stranded on driftwood, with a dangerous creature intent on killing him.





	1. Shipwrecked

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS INTERSEX. Some violence, gay...vaginal sex.

There was a sharp splashing din from the calm waves that startled Richard from his deep sleep. He jolted up, grabbing the fishing pole that was by his side, and held it out defensively. He looked around cautiously, his eyes peering at the blue sea encompassing him.

After a couple of minutes of trying to find the source of the sound, he gave up. There was nothing. The splashing, whatever it was, had ceased momentarily. He sat back down, and sighed heavily, looking down at himself and his tiny raft.

His clothes, although once pristine, were now tattered and filled with numerous holes and cuts. The long linen garment of his shirt, was stained with dark reddish hue, and his dark brown pants were torn open on his knees. He looked like an dirty, poverty-stricken man, despite being a prince. And now, here he was, on a brigantine that was reduced to nothing more than a couple of planks. 

He remembered well what happened to all of the 326 men. It was the storm that took them by surprise. That day, was nice and bright outside, and the sun shined high up above the thick clouds. It was neither too hot nor cold. The waters were serene, shimmering from the sun’s rays; it was the perfect day to sail. But as the hours passed, and the further they ventured in the sea, the murkier the water became. Shills ran up Richard’s spine, and his conscious was warning him to turn back and set sail another time, but he could not miss the important meeting that was to take place between the allied countries. He was supposed to represent the Verhan Empire, and it was his duty above all to set the negotiations for his ailing father.

It had struck fast. The sky suddenly had become dark, and fuliginous. The waves became high, and vicious, causing it to bump into peaked underwater rocks; the pointed stones pierced holes in the ship, and damages that were irreversible. Then, there was the flash of lightning that caused the sails to catch on fire, and deteriorate into nothing. The men no longer had any sails left—anything to hold the ship together. One by one, the violent movement of the waters, caused most of the men to fall off, and drown. If they did not die from drowning, they surely died from something else—whether it be impaled by the rocks or sudden sickness —until there was no one left but him. 

That was four days ago. 

Honestly, Richard did not know how he survived. He vaguely remembered anything about his own survival, and focused more of the loss of his comrades rather than himself.

Richard shook his head, his grimy matted hair, moving stiffly. He then took in a deep breath, staring at the dull skies. There was no sun only giant clouds that covered the welkin. The air was chilling, but not inhospitably cold, and there was the occasional wind that aided his travel. 

His stomach growled loudly, and his body felt feeble. Paranoia and hallucinations began to slip in his mind. At times, he swore that monkeys were flying across the sky, or that his family was there on a giant ship, opening their arms out to rescue him. It varied sometimes, and the more he spent out at sea, the more estranged they became.

Splash! The sound rang, and Richard immediately stood up, his eyes searching for where it came from. Clear waters met his view, and there wasn’t even a slight wave, yet the sound rang again, but this time louder.

Splash!

 

His heart began palpitating against his ribcage and his eyes dilated as he focused himself on a flash of a fin, that emerged out, then promptly fell back into the pellucid waters. He did not dare to go close to the edge, just in case the creature decided to drag him down, so stayed put in the center of the raft, with the fishing pole in his hands. 

It was eerily silent for a moment, and the hair on his skin stood up high, and froze there. His lips suddenly felt chapped, and he licked them, tasting the cold, metallic blood that laid upon them. Beads of sweat made their way from the crease of his brows, to the start of his beard. 

He was waiting for the attack, anticipating any possibility that came to his mind, but it never came. Instead a sweet, calming tone filled his ears. It was soft, relaxing, and there was a dream like quality to it; it was resounding with his deepest desires. It was like a hum from an angel—except this creature was no angel, but something malicious. The tone was putting him in drug-like state, and he suddenly felt compelled to get off of the only thing keeping him afloat. 

Richard was under its control.

Tardily and uncouthly, he made his way to the edge of the float, and gazed into the water with half-lidded eyes. He smiled dumbly at the clear liquid, until a hand, one that was webbed and had talons as nails, wrapped itself around his neck, reeling him in. Finally, he could see the creature’s face. It appeared to look like a beautiful young woman, with bright lavender eyes, and long, white curly hair. Its eyelashes were long and white, and its skin was a pale creamy color.

When he was fully submerged into the sea, his lungs began to burn from the amount of water he was consuming. It watched him curiously squirm as he tried to find a source of air. It circumnavigated around him a couple times, its long, spiked fishtail bumping against the man’s skin. The siren prodded at him, waiting for a reaction, but the man stared idly back, smiling, completely not aware of his intimate doom. 

It was playing, enjoying the way its food offered himself to it. The creature liked him, liked his features. The human was handsome, tall and broad….he would make a perfect meal; he would last the creature for weeks.

It extended its serrated trap, ready to consume the man, but torrid sensation from his lack of oxygen, woke Richard up from his daze before it could strike. 

His eyes became wide open, and he grabbed a hold of his nose in attempt to hold his breath. He was running out of air and running out fast. Richard would have immediately swam back up if not for the creature circling him. 

It hissed a couple of times, letting out a horrid screeched that sounded akin to a cross between a snake and bird and revealed more of its razor blades for teeth. They were tiny, but there were a myriad in there, all of them which were eagerly waiting to take a bite out of him. It glared at him vehemently, before swinging its large, fish-like tail against him.

He felt like he was kicked by a horse’s hind legs—only the sensation was far more prickled and unpleasant. 

Richard gasped out in pain, resulting in his mouth to open wide. Bubbles of air left him, and he inadvertently consumed more of the salt water. He was beginning to feel heavier, and more lethargic than before; it was due to the fact that he had just got the wind knocked out of him, and that he was quickly losing blood. The creature smirked at this, exhaling the scent of it and began making its way to charge at him again. Adrenaline kept the pain from being overpowering, and with strength he did not know he had, Richard hurriedly swam up towards the top of the water, and had managed to grab an area of the float. He lifted himself up onto the the raft, and took a deep breath, his eyes focusing on the pole that was rolling near him. 

Before the clawed hands were able to strike, he grabbed onto the pole.


	2. Mer on Board

He was dragged down faster than before—but still not too far from the raft. The creature was angry— pissed even—that he had tried to escape. Its claws bore into his skin, gaining a gasp from the man. Richard looked back at the thing, its menacing, purple eyes glaring back at him. It snarled, dragging its nails around his calf. He struggled, kicking his leg a bit so the thing would let go, and when it didn’t, he used the pole in his hand, vigorously hitting it a couple times on its tail. He whacked with all his strength until a sudden snap of bones cracking was heard.

 

That was when Richard made his move, and started propelling his arms back to the surface—accidentally letting go of  his only weapon in the process. 

  
  


It tried to bolt  back up and chase after him, but it halted, and wailed miserably  instead. 

  
  


Richard made his way back up the beaten up raft, coughing up blood and excess sea water. On his hands and knees, he crawled himself back into the same spot in the middle of the pile of wood. He winced, and bit his lips. Large yet weakened hands made their way to compress his wounds. They throbed; the puncture wounds were deep, and bleed profusely; the smell of the sordid iron invaded his nostrils and he inwardly cringed; but the horrid scent was the least of his troubles.  He had to cover them or else he would bleed out.

 

His hands gripped at his tattered shirt, and he ripped the dirty fabric into uneven strips. Richard the wrapped his lesions tightly, wincing from the tenderness. He was tired, more exhausted than before. The moments he fought with that thing—it was unbelievable.

 

_ What was it, anyway?  _ He asked himself.  _ It looked like— _ Richard didn’t even want to think of such possibilities. It was ridiculous, completely insane---but--- he couldn’t deny what he saw down there.  It was something straight out of the Lore. Straight out of one of his grandfather’s fairy tales. 

 

He reminisced about the old man. His grandfather, Constantine of Verhan, the 50th king,  was a tall burly man, who had a long, white cotton beard that dangled to the bottom of his collar bone. He smelled slightly of peppermint and cigars--mainly because he always drank peppermint tea habitually and then would smoke right after. The former king hardly smiled or laughed, his lips always seemed pursed in the same position daily, and there even were times Richard had pondered if the old man was capable of doing so, but the few times he did, belied this to be false.  By day, the man acted more of an instructor than anything else. He would teach him how spar, remind him of his princely duties, and tutor him in various diplomatic approaches that were key in running a kingdom; during these hours he was strict, and disciplined, however at night, he was a loving grandfather.

 

He missed him dearly. 

 

_ “Richard?”  _ He heard his grandfather’s throaty, deep voice say. The man held a book,  _ Fables and Legends of the World,  _  in his hand, and stopped his reading momentarily. His light blue eyes turned his attention towards his grandson. 

 

_ “Yes, grandpa?” _

 

_ “Do you believe?”  _ The man had unexpectedly asked the boy, and Richard gave him a bemused look.

 

_ “Do I believe in what, grandpa?” _

 

_ “Mermaids.” _

 

_ “Do you?”  _ The boy asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. The man smiled genuinely. One of the rarest things he saw the wizened man do. His grandfather reached out, and combed his hand through the mop of dark locks. 

 

In many ways, Richard resembled his grandfather; he was tall like the man, strong, was skilled in combat, intelligent, but he was also different. He didn’t like to hunt, didn’t like to swim, didn’t share the same golden hair the man once had, and he definitely didn’t believe in fairytales like the man—well, until now. 

 

_ “I do,”  _ he spoke softly,  _ “Once when I was a small boy, I saw one.” _ The older man didn’t elaborate anymore about his childhood. He seemed lost in thought, reflecting on something from long ago. The most vivid thing Richard could recall, is how oddly the man’s usual stern eyes seemed to light up in strange manner. 

 

He looked, almost overjoyed. 

 

_ “I don’t, grandpa.” _

 

_ “Hmm.. and why not little one?” _

 

_ “Because, I haven’t seen one.” _

 

_ “Well, I suppose you’re right then.” _

 

The older man ruffled his hair once more, and continued on with the story. A week later, his grandfather had a heart attack. It was during his sleep, and his father had reassured him that the man had passed peacefully, but those words didn’t console him much. After the death of his grandfather, he hadn’t been the same.

 

The man had been right. Mermaids existed, but they were nothing like the ones in the lore; in the stories his granda read,  they were depicted as playful, humanoid creatures who sung songs for pleasure. The real mers, as far as Richard could tell, were completely contrary to that;  they were apex predators, monsters of unimaginable deception who enjoyed feasting on the flesh of man. 

 

Moments later, the raft swayed, and the same hands that dragged him down, were making their way to the makeshift boat. His hand reached out to grab out for the metallic pole again, but he recalled he had lost it, and instead stood far back, when the creature made its way back up.

 

“Shit,” Richard mumbled, his hand on his forehead, forcing his face down. “Shit.”

 

Immediately, when its eyes met his, it gave out a cat hiss in displeasure, flaring its gills on the side of its neck. Its large eyes peered, staring  him down; the mer looked like it was about to strike--similarly in the same fashion that of a cobra--finish what it intended, but when he noticed its tail was badly bruised—a courtesy from him— that the thing wouldn’t be moving from its spot anytime soon. The once shimmering tail was now a lackluster; the some of the scales fell off and in their place were pachy bloody marks. The tail had cuts, and it was leaving a muddy rouge trails all over the plank raft.

 

He couldn’t get the thing to move off on its own. Every slightest movement he made, had the creature snarling at him. So there was nothing more than he could do, then stay in his spot.

 

Evening soon fell, and the creature was eerily quiet. It made no sounds, and it did not move. Richard thought it was dead, until an intense and grueling screeched escaped its lips. Its webbed hands and tail began convulsing severely. It kept crying, and the long talons of its hands scraped against the planks, trying to mollify the pain. 

 

And then slowly, but surely it happened. 

 

The tail began to become paler until it was a cream color; the scales embellishing it fell off and  the fin began to separate until they were two distinguishable entities. They became feet, and slits on his neck were dissipating as well. When they were completely gone, the mer’s eyes jolted open, and it began hyperventilating; it was obviously not used to breathing air. Its head was turned down, long waves of its hair covering its face as it was gasping for oxygen.

 

Richard watched as the creature went through its change. An amalgam of ambivalent emotions coursed through him; on one hand, he was quite fascinated on the creature's ability to adapt in both the sea and land, yet on the other, he was alarmed about its unknown capabilities.

 

It was completely human, if one disregarded the sharp nails and razor blades for teeth.

 

His eyes had blown themselves opened, wide, staring. He was afraid that it would run across the plank and tear him limb by limb, but when he gazed downwards, he could tell clear enough that it was still hurt. Both its legs were badly bruised; purple, black, and some green dicoloring littered its legs.

 

Its limbs  were white and creamy like the rest of it, and when Richard looked towards the, um, the front view, he could clearly see that had androgynous genitals--however it was more physically feminine; The mer, did indeed have a penis, but it was too small and underdeveloped, making the prince to assume that it was a vestigial organ or a mutation. 

 

It had tilted its head up and caught him staring , and quickly bared its teeth, growling. Richard held his arms up defensively in response, but it only took it as a sign of aggression, galvanizing it to continue the low, guttural sound.

 

“Okay, okay. I’m not going to do anything,” he reassured, speaking softly. He turned to his side, away from the creature, the opaque nothingness of ocean in his view. It seemed to notice his submission and ceased its growls, but its eyes were still sharp, filled with immense hatred and distrust. 

 

It was watching him.

 

_ This was going to be a long night. _

 


	3. The King’s Unfortunate News

The king lied on his bed, completely immobile; he made no efforts to move unless he needed to. 

 

The man was fatally sick. His once dark chocolate hair was now a mangy grey, his emerald eyes were sunken, skin wizened beyond his years. It was hard to believe, that the man on the bed, was actually only forty-eight years old; he was hard of hearing, partially blind, and his muscles had atrophied to that of a grandfather.

 

He sighed deeply.

 

Two years of this long, grueling illness had man the king depressed. He hardly found joy in anything anymore. When he was younger, he used to take pleasure in simply walking outside and watching the view. Now, the man couldn’t even stand by himself without aid, let alone go outside and relax in the company of nature. He had pondered on multiple occasions when the disease would suddenly kill him. He had pondered if it would be in minutes, hours, days, weeks..etc.

 

The pain was excruciating both physically and mentally. King Augustus prayed for it to end. 

 

A twinge of guilt stirred its way in his stomach.

 

He had to live for his only son; it was his late wife’s dying wish that her son grew up ready for the kingdom.

 

Richard was a capable young man, a prodigy in intellectual and physical studies—but he was still only a child in his father’s eyes. The prince was nowhere near the age of succession, he was only twenty. Claiming the throne required years of experience in diplomacy. Only recently, was he sent to his second trip. 

 

Richard wasn’t prepared for the responsibility of taking the throne. 

 

“Your Majesty,” the voice of his advisor spoke hesitantly, muffled by the wooden barrier. It was evident, even behind the door, that the short statured man was nervous, but as to what, the king did not know.

 

“Yes, Tonio?” A cough followed his inquiry, and then meekly, Augustus shuffled through his bed sheets in attempt to get up, but failing in doing so. His bones ached tremendously, so he sat back down.

 

“May I come in?”

 

“Yes, you may.”

 

The room was dark, and it smelled faintly of dust and melancholy. Tonio could could sense that the king was far worse than he was previously.

 

It terrified the man. 

 

He had known the king for years, and even considered him a close friend. What would the news do to him? Could he find himself to tell him? It was difficult, and his thoughts kept vacillating to the point where it had caused him confusion. 

 

“Tonio, are you alright?” 

 

“No, sir—I—”

 

“Tonio?”

 

He licked his chapped lips, and opened his mouth to speak. He was about to tell him of the news, yet even in the dim lighting of the quarters, he could see the man’s deathly pale eyes. His heart stung slightly, and he faltered.

  
  


Instead what came out of his mouth was a verbose scapegoat.

 

“Sir! It’s beautiful outside, we really should open the windows.” Rushed, the advisor made his way across the room, and began opening the large, velvet curtains.

 

“Tonio, it’s raining out there.”

 

“Nonsense, my king, it’s perfectly—“ 

 

When the short man had finally opened the windows, a flash of lightning, followed by the sound roaring thunder greeted him. He then quickly closed them, turning his head to smile apologetically at Augustus.

 

_ Well, that was a complete failure,  _ Tonio chided himself. 

 

“Come sit, old friend. Tell me your troubles.” The king gestured his hand for the man join him. Begrudgingly, Tonio followed through, and sat on the bed.

 

“I do not wish you to stress my lord.”

 

“Stressed? I am always stressed! It comes with the responsibility of being king!” The older man let out a chortle, and rubbed his companion’s shoulder affectionately. 

 

Tonio remained still, his hands and knees pressed together. His lips were in a straight line, and he didn’t dare budge them. 

 

Augustus realized his mistake; the moment was much more serious than he had anticipated; of course, his levity was not welcomed in such matters. 

 

“I can handle it, rest assured,” Augustus whispered. He had never seen his friend so scared before. What news could he possibly tell that he felt would stress him out more than possible? If it was truly important, then he needed to know; stress was inconsequential in this moment. 

 

“I—I don’t know what to tell you, sir.” A deep sigh came from the stout man, and he casted down his eyes, as if ashamed. 

 

“My friend, in all these years we had known each other, you have never kept secrets from me.

 

Tonio’s eyes had blown open as he turned his head to turn to his beloved king. Droplets of tears fell from his eyes.

 

“He’s missing,” Tonio finally confessed, letting out a choked sob.


	4. The Shore

When Richard woke up, he felt himself engulfed in something warm and prickly. They were small shards of---actually he couldn't say for certain, but it felt like sand —myriads of them encompassing this body, most of which began to fall off as he attempted to move himself. Steadily, his eyes began fluttering open. The first thing he saw was a torrid, blinding light.

"So bright," he wheezed, his arm shifting over to protect his eyes. One hand stood straight to support him as he began sitting up and looked around.

For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating because in front of him, laid the vast ocean, and behind him, an island; but he never knew a hallucination to be so tangible, the sparkling shaving of quartz beneath him felt so real, but then again, he could be dead and this could be his version of Heaven. In fact, it wouldn't be a surprise if he was dead. Richard had lasted days on bound with nothing but the salty sea to gorge himself. The prolonged suffering that the waters have brought—the thirst, the anger, the hallucinations and that damned creature!

Was it truly all over? Was this really paradise? It sure looked like it. Flowers, from an arrangement of varying colors and sizes–all of them vivacious and vibrant–decorated the outskirts of a jungle. Trees stood high–most of which begat the most exotic of fruits that were plump and ripe–had either long canopy-like leaves that provide tremendous protection from the sun's rays or palmate leaves that resembled stars; they had covered the whole island east to west. He even noted that in the plane of greenery that there was a tremendous mountain that stood in the heart of the island. Silhouettes of birds flew high above, circling it. 

He got up fully, swaying as like baby learning to take his first steps. They were ponderous, scattering sand everywhere as he began walking towards what he thought was Heaven. Richard never made it past a couple feet; he was stalled by meek whimpers of an animal in pain. Although weak, they were whiny–urgent, similar in the manner of something on the verge of death, begging to end it from misery.

It reminded him of the times his grandfather and father went on hunting trips with him. On one specific occasion, his grandfather had pulled the lever of his rifle, and bang, shot the gravid doe on the side of its stomach—causing a deep, sanguineous wound that stained its fur. It let out a horrendous screech that made the insides churn and his heart swell in grief. He saw it stare at him; those melancholy eyes were wide, pitiless holes filled with tears. He watches as he vitality left its body before his granddad shot it again–but this time Richard didn't have the nerve to look its way. It was an amalgam of shame and melancholy that filled his young mind, and he knew it that moment, that he wasn't as callous as his grandfather nor father—who both hunted for only sport.

He was soft, and valued life beyond his own kind. A flaw in his masculinity and his future rule.

Ungainly, he pivoted his head to the direction of the source, and ten feet away was the deathly pale humanoid-creature, lolled out on the sand, feet wet from the waves. It looked even worse than before.

There was a twinge of guilt that the prince felt, despite it attempting to look intimidating. There was no fear in the salty air, only pity. He reasoned that he should have hated the creature, should have finished it off right then as it laid vulnerable, kill it before it kills him–but he couldn't.

He clenched his jaw at the sight and didn't look back; he stepped in.


End file.
